


won't say (i missed you)

by imperiousheiress



Category: Watchmen (2009), Watchmen (Comic), Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: "relationship" here used loosely, Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, but the feelings are implied, pillow princess adrian veidt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:00:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22195930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperiousheiress/pseuds/imperiousheiress
Summary: “Oh, Eddie. My dear friend. Can this not just be a… a social call?” he practically purrs, cheshire grin stretching across sharp cheekbones. He spreads his arms wide in question. Or, in invitation.“No.” Eddie spits the word out of the corner of his mouth, around the cigar between his teeth. He closes the remaining distance, tucking away the gun that had still been swinging limp in his hand as he does.“Social callsgenerally don’t involve breaking into mygoddamnhouse,” he snarls. “So, let me try asking again. What thehelldo you want.”
Relationships: Edward Blake/Adrian Veidt
Comments: 3
Kudos: 34





	won't say (i missed you)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little old and was written purely self-indulgently because this is one of the few pairings that actively makes me want to write smut. But I figured there was little enough content for them that it was selfish to keep it to myself, so I hope you enjoy! ♥

Eddie goes to flick on the lightswitch and succeeds only in scraping his knuckles against the glossy sandpaper texture of the white paint in the entryway. He raises a heavy fist to rub at his eyes and blinks groggily at the yellow light glowing from the living room. Must have forgotten to turn off the lamp when he’d gone out. Certainly wouldn’t be the first time.

He closes the dark wood door behind him with a grunt, cutting off the dim light from the hall outside and leaving the entryway of his apartment washed in brown darkness. Sore feet carry his legs to the small kitchen with stuttering steps. A half bottle of bourbon still sits atop the counter in the exact place he’d left it last night. His arms move of their own accord to pull a fresh whiskey tumbler down out of one of the cabinets mounted next to the stove range. He carts it to the freezer, squinting irritably at the light the appliance emits when the door is opened. Half a dozen little ice cubes are plucked carefully from their nest, clinking musically where they land against the glass when he drops them in. With a soft hiss, he sucks his fingers into his mouth to relieve the stinging cold.

He returns to the counter and pours himself two fingers. Guns it down in one go. Smacks his glass back against polished granite with a sharp clunk and relishes in the burn that slides down his throat. It seeps into his muscles and he rolls his neck from side to side, relishing the tension that escapes through his cracking joints.

The second time he pours, this time with the intent to keep it for sipping, he’s a bit more generous. He caps the bottle, but doesn’t pick up his glass, instead keeping both hands free just long enough to light a cigar from his pocket. The motions are ritual, a rhythm punctuated by the flicking of the lighter, the orange-glowing end of the smoke, bringing it to his lips. Inhaling.

Even out of the corner of his eye, he doesn’t miss the subtle flicking of shadows across the light spilling from the living room. Or the quiet rustle of fabric moving somewhere distantly behind him. He puffs smoke around the butt of his cigar as easily as he draws his gun. The click of the clip slotting into place is loud when he cocks it, pointing the end of the barrel towards the living room. Towards the intruder.

“Come now.” The silky smooth voice floats to his ears from the same direction. “Put that awful thing away.”

The edge of Eddie’s mouth twitches up in a smirk and he lowers the pistol without returning it to its holster. He snatches up his glass with his left hand before turning around. His view into the living room is mostly obstructed. From this angle, he can see only the partial wall of the entryway and most of the back of the couch. But he knows that’s the only place where the smarmy little bug that crawled through the woodwork and into his home could be.

Eddie sucks in a lungful of smoke before pulling the cigar from between his lips with the same hand that’s still cradling his glass.

“Y’know, that ain’t very nice, sweetheart.” He takes two steps forward, languid and deliberate, and then another. “I can’t help it that this is the face I was born with.”

“Yes. I suppose some of us  _ are _ more fortunate than others.”

Eddie snorts. He finally stops when the body on his couch comes into view. He’s not surprised at all to see Ozy- _ fucking _ -mandias, sprawled leisurely across the cushions, head pillowed against the far armrest, draped in a perfectly-fitted silk robe. (Purple, of  _ course _ . With gold trim.)

Eddie swallows hard around another mouthful of whiskey to soothe his suddenly dry throat.

“So. To what do I owe the pleasurable company of the smartest man alive?” he drawls, the burn all but disappearing immediately after the liquid hits his stomach.

Adrian tsks.

“Oh, Eddie. My dear friend. Can this not just be a… a social call?” he practically purrs, cheshire grin stretching across sharp cheekbones. He spreads his arms wide in question. Or, in invitation. 

“No.”

Eddie spits the word out of the corner of his mouth, around the cigar between his teeth. He closes the remaining distance, tucking away the gun that had still been swinging limp in his hand as he does. He stands alongside the couch, close enough to brush silk. From here he can see that the fabric splits against Adrian’s left thigh, falling between his legs and leaving a long expanse of perfectly smooth, milky skin exposed. It holds Eddie’s attention rapt.

His eyes skirt to where the robe is tied together like a present with a gold belt, just below his hips. What else is under there? He knows what he wants the answer to be. 

His weight shifts as he hovers, letting his right elbow prop him up against the top of the couch back. That’s all it takes to box Adrian in. He pops the cigar out again, letting snowy gray ash flit to the carpet. It still shares a hand with his whiskey, and he keeps his elbow tucked close to his chest to steady them both.

“ _ Social calls _ generally don’t involve breaking into my _ goddamn  _ house,” he snarls. “So, let me try asking again. What the  _ hell _ do you want.”

Adrian rolls his neck along with his eyes, flicking his right wrist lazily in a meaningless gesture. Eddie doesn’t lower his guard. Like any cornered animal, this is exactly where he is at his deadliest. 

“Come now,” he hums, eyes flashing silver with dangerous promise. “Must I really require a motive? Besides the desire for your company.”

The  _ p _ pops between his perfect cupid bow lips. 

Eddie snorts, but doesn’t otherwise react when the cigar is plucked from between his fingers. Just follows Adrian’s movements with his eyes. Ignoring the disdainful way he looks at it, still glowing, Eddie watches the slow stretch of his arms and subtle cant of his hips when he reaches behind his head to stub it out on the little end table beside the couch.

It’s an effective enough distraction that he doesn’t notice the slow lift of Adrian’s left leg until the delicate arch of his bare foot is already resting against the outside curve of his thigh, just above the knee. He’s unduly proud of himself for holding back any kind of physical reaction. 

Gravity has worked its claws into the robe, tugging it delicately away from Adrian’s hips. It’s just enough to give Eddie a view of the muscles contracting in his inner thigh. As he continues to trail his foot teasingly up Eddie’s leg, his eye catches on black fabric just peeking out from the upside down V where the silk intersects. (Although it’s a bare thing at this point.)

He’s almost disappointed.

“You know how I get lonely.”

Adrian’s foot knocks against his belt and changes direction, tracing the leather. It only comes to a stop upon reaching the significant bulge tenting Eddie’s jeans. He presses against it and the grin that stretches his pale cheeks is vicious. The only reason Eddie hates it is because it  _ works _ .

It’s embarrassing, how quickly he loses his composure then. A growl crawls its way out of his throat when he lunges forward. The still half-full glass of whiskey is forgotten, tumbling to the floor. If it breaks, he’s entirely unaware of it. He doesn’t  _ care; _ the sole object of his focus is purple silk, miles of smooth skin, and burning steel-blue eyes. 

His right hand wraps around Adrian’s raised calf, spreading his legs wider and yanking him closer all in one. The action dislodges him from his armrest pillow, forcing his back flat against the cushions. Eddie practically falls between those legs. His left hand lands just to the side of Adrian’s head, fingers spread – a support beam to keep him from landing completely on the soft body beneath him. Not that he could actually do it any harm. His other hand continues what it started, stroking indulgently along the outside of a thigh, just between skin and silk.

Adrian remains unperturbed by his rough handling. His arms snake around Eddie’s neck and drag him in close enough that he can sink his teeth into his lower lip without pretense. 

Eddie doesn’t fight it. Quite the opposite, actually. He responds in kind, eagerly capturing Adrian’s mouth with his own. He takes over the kiss, thoroughly pressing Adrian into the couch as he covers that lithe body with his own. 

Before he can free up his hands, Eddie has to tear himself from the clutches of Adrian’s teeth. As soon as he succeeds, shifting his weight just so, he puts his newfound mobility to good use. The single knot keeping him from the rest of Adrian’s skin slips undone with little protest under the coaxing of his deft fingers. The rest of the robe follows behind, yielding to his hand as it caresses along taut stomach muscles, parting to let him by. When the robe falls away his eyes rake over the glorious sight. Like a man who has suddenly found himself drowning in the desert. Still, his gaze zeroes in on the one thing still separating him from entirely claiming what is his. 

Tongue flitting out to run along the edge of bared teeth, Eddie leans in, moving Adrian’s pliable legs just enough to be able to press an open-mouthed kiss to the line of his hip. He hears Adrian’s sharp intake of breath when he sinks his teeth in and sucks hard, and the sound leaves him grinning against tender skin. When he detaches, Adrian chokes on a whine, and the sight of the angry red welt left behind –  _ his _ mark – sends a spark of heat tingling down Eddie’s spine. 

He doesn’t dally to admire his handiwork for long. It’s only a beat before he soothes the mark over with his tongue and continues to paint a wet stripe down to the offending matte black silk panties stretching across the prominent bulge of Adrian’s erection. He drops a kiss to the tip with the barest pressure and grins at the feeling of Adrian’s thigh twitching against his cheek. It’s chaste and he doesn’t have the willpower to linger, moving instead to grasp the edge of the fabric between his teeth.

He meets Adrian’s lust-darkened eyes through his eyelashes. He is craning his neck to watch intently, sharp gaze catching Eddie’s every movement. 

Eddie pulls, and Adrian’s underwear slides down. A tiny, helpless noise escapes his throat as it caresses his dick. When the silk drags delicately across the head, finally exposing him to the cool air of the apartment, he moans – a high, sweet sound – and thrusts against nothing.

Eddie Blake has never been considered a patient man by anyone, least of all himself. Even so, it’s nothing short of a miracle how teasing Adrian has taught him the virtue. Right now, however, patience is the farthest word from his mind. It’s been all but forgotten, sent sailing somewhere far beyond his reach. 

The way he grips Adrian’s hips as he swallows him to the hilt in a single, sudden motion is almost cruel. He allows no opportunity for recovery, either, before he’s sucking hard around him. Just as quickly, he starts to circle the head of Adrian’s dick with his tongue, and then strokes it along the underside. His every motion is calculated, relentless and dirty, and leaves Adrian writhing under him. He gasps out words that Eddie isn’t even sure are all English, but he understands the sentiment nonetheless. Adrian is cursing his name seven ways to Sunday, and he’s certain it’s  _ foul _ .

It’s not until Adrian’s hand shoots out to tug at a handful of his short brown hair that Eddie releases him. His hips cant in an effort to follow the heat of Eddie’s mouth, but his attempts are thwarted by the bruising hand pinning him down. 

It takes only a moment for Adrian to compose himself, sucking in a shaking breath. And then he’s glaring down at Eddie, those nearly black, heat-filled eyes locking on to his own.

“Fuck me.”

It’s a command. 

Eddie’s predatory smile slices lopsided across his right cheek. He fists his hands in Adrian’s underwear and gracelessly yanks it down around his ankles and then his feet to be removed and discarded somewhere across the room. 

“As you wish, princess.” The words come out a snarl.

He has to extract himself from the couch in order to lose his own pants. As soon as he pushes to a stand, his belt is coming undone between well-practiced fingers. The jeans and underwear are shucked with much less self-control than he exhibited in undressing his partner, kicked off somewhere in the vague direction of Adrian’s man-panties. 

He only gets one knee back on the couch before he feels a pull at his shirt. The red cotton bunches in Adrian’s fist. The grip that some would find unexpected in its strength (Not Eddie. He knows better.) yanks Eddie in closer and holds him there.

“This too.”

Eddie raises a placating hand and, after being studied for a moment, is released. He rolls his eyes with a quiet huff, but does as he’s told without otherwise inviting conflict. He only hesitates a little before grabbing the hem of his shirt and pulling it up over his head.

It obscures his vision for only a moment, and when he can see again he finds Adrian’s incredibly blue eyes unsurprisingly tracing the jagged lines of scars that crisscross his torso. He does this at every chance they’re together like this. Eddie hates the scrutiny, but what he hates more is the fact that he can never stop his body’s tensing up and flinching away against his will.

Ever the perceptive bastard, Adrian notices. As always. His expression doesn’t change, carefully passive, but he reaches out and snatches Eddie’s shirt from where it droops, lifeless in his hands. He is the only person Eddie has met who could manage to make the act of flinging it away over Eddie’s shoulder graceful. And he does. 

Until the resulting dull thunk, followed by the rattling of metal against metal fills the room and suddenly it seems dimmer than it was a moment ago. 

Eddie twists to look behind him and, sure enough, his shirt is hanging over an edge of the lampshade, which is still shaking from the impact. It landed over the top, obstructing the light, but filtering enough through the fabric to tint the room with a reddish glow. One eyebrow quirked, Eddie turns to look back at Adrian. The unintentional aim is actually sort of impressive.

Except, when his eyes do land on the form of the man beneath him, he finds, for a moment, that he can’t breathe. The edges of Adrian’s delicate golden hair, disrupted from its normal styling but still soft-looking, are haloed with pink. His skin glows, flushing rosy high on his cheekbones and the ridge of his nose. Under the new light, his kiss-bruised lips look nearly bloody from the force of his fervor. 

And then Adrian’s gaze leaves the distant lamp over Eddie’s shoulder to return to meet his eyes, and he shrugs. 

Eddie can’t stop the snort-laugh that bursts forth from him, nor would he want to. He dives to kiss Adrian with a renewed vigor and can feel the pull of his bemused smile as he enthusiastically kisses Eddie back. 

It’s Adrian who urges the real action forward again. Mid-kiss, he starts to grind up into Eddie, calling focus back to his perceived lack of attention. He can be such a needy little slut sometimes.

Eddie  _ could _ return to his teasing. Keep him at the edge. Make him wait for it. Make him  _ beg _ . String him along without actually giving in to what he wants until he’s squirming and begging, tear tracks cutting across that pretty face. He delights in being able to wrench every last ounce of Adrian’s usual careful control from his fingers. 

It’s never something he thought he could do before Adrian. But for some reason, he is able to bring that kind of concentration and control out in Eddie. It’s not often, but he has done it, holding back and working Adrian for hours without granting him release. 

Not tonight, though. Tonight they both need it just like this, no fucking around.

Without breaking the kiss, Adrian presses something into Eddie’s palm, and his fingers automatically wrap around it. It makes him pull away so he can take a look. When he uncurls his fist, he sees a little bottle, maybe the length of his ring finger, and, under it, a little foil square. He has no idea where they came from. He hadn’t thought the robe had pockets, but maybe Adrian had been hiding them in the folds, or the couch. Whatever the case, he’s not sure he actually cares. 

Eddie holds the flat foil package between his fingers, brandishing it in front of Adrian with a raised eyebrow. 

“You’re such a prissy little bitch sometimes, y’know that?”

Adrian’s eyes narrow marginally as he plays along without hesitation. His left hand squeezes a hard warning into Eddie’s bicep.

“You either use it or you don’t fuck me. There is no third option.”

“Now, which one of us really draws the short straw in that equation, huh?”

Eddie’s leer fades quickly. Adrian presses his palm hard against the underside of his cock and he gasps out a curse, bucking into the touch.

_ “Jesus, _ ok!”

He pushes Adrian’s hand away and resettles his weight so those muscled thighs are draped over his lap, spread wide. One of his now free hands squeezes viscous liquid onto the fingers of the other before he sets both objects onto the end table, out of the way. 

He doesn’t bother giving it the time to warm and liquefy. Just presses the tip of one slick finger to Adrian’s entrance. He feels the shiver that passes through the entire body of the man beneath him, but Adrian doesn’t protest and Eddie doesn’t wait. 

His finger presses in steadily. He only lets up for a moment after getting just the tip past the tight ring of muscle, and then doesn’t stop. Once the whole digit is sheathed within him, he gives Adrian a merciful few moments to adjust while muffled whimpers sneak past his clenched teeth.

At the first hint of the intrusion, Adrian’s arms hadn’t so much wound around Eddie’s back as they had snapped like a bear trap. Blunt, perfectly manicured nails sinking into his skin and anchoring them both in place.

Eddie’s free hand pushes now thoroughly displaced strands of blonde back from Adrian’s forehead, fingers stroking soothingly across his scalp. He relaxes under the touch, whines turning to quiet pants of exertion as he shifts demandingly onto Eddie’s finger. He happily obliges the unvoiced request, pressing a second finger into him alongside the first. It goes more easily, slipping past the tight ring of muscle and making Adrian groan sharply. 

The nails suddenly scratching hard at his back, hard enough to peel away skin, are the first indicator that he’s doing something right. By now, Eddie knows Adrian’s body well enough that finding that spot is no challenge. He still can’t help the self-satisfied grin that strains his face. He could never possibly get enough of the way Adrian’s body tenses, or his pleasured gasps, or his nails tearing the flesh from Eddie’s back. 

He brushes his fingertips along that same spot once more just to hear him scream.

Adrian’s torso twists as he tries to roll his hips up into Eddie’s weight. His stern expression only succeeds in coming off as petulant and it just makes Eddie smile all the more.

“Do you plan on just sitting there all night, or were you going to actually get to it?” Adrian huffs.

Eddie abruptly removes his fingers and Adrian shudders.

“Hadn’t decided yet,” he says, sitting back on his heels. “Maybe if you ask nicely, I’ll consider-”

“ _ Please _ .”

The word comes out little more than a gasp. There is no pretense – none of his forced composure, no play at defiance. It’s a plea, pure and simple.

The smile drops off Eddie’s face.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” he swears. “Ok. Ok, sweetheart. Just-”

He fumbles a little in his rush, fingers slipping over the little foil square on the end table as he tries to grab it. He curses again when he drops it, but grabs it again before it can escape his reach. When he tears it open with his teeth and rolls it on, he can feel lust-darkened eyes watching him close. 

At first, he hadn’t been excited about the idea of using rubbers. But, from the start, it had been one of Adrian’s very,  _ very _ few conditions, and one on which he absolutely would not be swayed. It hadn’t taken long at all to convince Eddie oh how worth it it was; a small price to pay in exchange for getting to bed Adrian Veidt.

Eddie reaches for the lube and wrangles the bottle open, slicking himself up. This time, he doesn’t bother with putting the bottle neatly away. Instead, he just drops it on the couch and wraps a steadying hand around his length, easing the tip of his dick into Adrian’s waiting body.

He makes himself breathe, holding still to give Adrian a chance to get used to him. Or, at least, that’s what he tries to do.

Adrian has other ideas.

His fingers dislodge themselves from the footholds they’ve carved into Eddie’s back in order to grab at his neck, tugging at his short hair. At the same time, he wraps his legs around Eddie’s torso with impressive agility, locking in place like a vice and driving his cock deep into himself. 

“ _ Christ _ ,” Eddie gasps, balance upset by the suddenness of the action. He tilts forward, barely catching himself on his elbow before his body careens into the one below him. Adrian moans, the sound strangled and wanton, his breath hot on Eddie’s cheek.

His hips roll, but Eddie’s weight has him pinned and he can’t get the traction he desires. Adrian’s teeth sink into his neck, and Eddie forces the moan that escapes him into a soothing noise. He rubs gentle circles into Adrian’s hips in an effort to ease the tension in his muscles. It’s not until Adrian stops writhing and his breathing evens out that Eddie begins to move. 

He starts slow and doesn’t go deep. It’s the opposite of what Adrian wants, but he never has been the most adept at knowing what’s good for him. Eddie understands his body better than he does. He knows just the right angle so that he brushes Adrian’s prostate with every slow thrust in. Teeth scrape and suck at his neck as Adrian mewls. 

His own name reaches his ears, slipping through Adrian’s lips like a prayer and Eddie peppers the ghosts of kisses over every part of him he can reach – an unruly wave of hair, his earlobe, one fluttering eyelid.

When he stops moving, Adrian makes a noise like he’s been stabbed. He throws his head back, stretching the graceful arch of his neck to an impossible length. Eddie nips at the bared skin and feels the rabbit pulse of Adrian’s heart beneath his tongue. 

He shuffles awkwardly on his knees when his hands tighten around Adrian’s hips, lifting them and leaning into the porcelain legs circled around his waist until Adrian’s knees bend nearly to his chest.

_ God _ , he’s flexible. That’s never something Eddie thought could be so hot before. But as always, Adrian makes everything good look  _ so much _ better. 

Without further warning, Eddie thrusts into his body again, hard, and Adrian sobs out a moan. He pulls out and then pushes in, pulls and pushes, at a grueling pace. His own breath comes in labored pants as he pounds into Adrian. Hands scrabble against his sweat-slick back, clawing in long strokes without finding purchase. 

He’s vaguely aware of their combined bodies slipping steadily along the cushions - or maybe that’s just the couch moving. 

Adrian is tight and hot around him. His shining gold halo of soft hair is rendered wild from hands and friction, and the flush on his face is only accentuated by the pink-red glow of the lamp still covered by Eddie’s shirt. His pretty, lust-hazy gunmetal eyes shine up through long lashes above bitten plump lips.

He is the most beautiful thing Eddie has ever seen. 

One hand leaves Adrian’s hip and manages to slip into the scant space left between their bodies to wrap around his dick. That’s all it takes, and then he’s coming with a cry, hot and hard, splattering across both of them. Eddie’s hand and chest. His own stomach. 

Eddie tries to keep his eyes open, wants to drink in the sight like a drowning man. But then he’s following Adrian over the edge and he has to watch the contortion of that pretty face from behind closed eyelids.

He gasps out Adrian’s name in a chorus as he comes down, letting his boneless limbs win out. He doesn’t care that when he flops down, he lands on Adrian, his weight pinning that leanly muscled body between himself and the couch. 

He tucks his face into the juncture between Adrian’s neck and shoulder, breathing in the heady musk of him that, all on its own, would make doing this worth it even if the sex was terrible. (It isn’t. It’s the best Eddie’s ever had.)

Adrian grunts, but doesn’t protest. They both know that he could lay Eddie out if he really wanted to. Which means he’s perfectly content where he is, chest rising and falling against Eddie’s as his breathing evens out. His bruising hands have gone soft, those long fingers stroking gently over Eddie’s sides and the new ridges carved into his back, through a sheen of sweat and pink blood. 

As Eddie lays, limbs tingling and loose, warmed with a sense of contentment, he mouths at Adrian’s red-dappled neck. His skin is salty and sweet, and he can feel the fluttering of his steadying pulse under his upturned lips. He hums just to feel the twitch of muscles it elicits. 

When he feels fingers brushing his hair back from his forehead with a tender touch, Eddie lifts his head to meet Adrian’s lax blue gaze, melted by satisfaction. The pink tint still feathering his spun gold hair matches the hue of his skin. It paints not only his cheekbones, but seeps down towards the rest of his body. 

“That was good,” Eddie murmurs. He tilts his chin to capture Adrian’s lips in a languid, barely-there kiss. “How is it you always know just what I need, sugar?”

Adrian’s expression tightens minutely – only a brief change, before his contentment wins out and he exhales into the languid air that surrounds them.

He makes no remarks on Eddie’s backhanded praise. Instead, he says, “I’m glad you’re home.”


End file.
